Beyond the Grave by Mara Purnhagen Read Free Book Online Page B

with Trisha bringing over a stack of thick bridal magazines that she and Annalise flipped through, circling everything they thought was pretty or elegant or festive.
    Noah had rolled his eyes. “She’s gone insane,” he’d told me as we watched a movie in the next room. “She’s already picked out my cummerbund.”
    I had giggled, and he had pointed a finger at me. “She’s picking out a dress for you, so don’t laugh.”
    Terrifying visions of puffy taffeta had filled my mind as I heard Annalise squeal over a veil. I had stopped giggling.
    I understood Trisha’s enthusiasm—she had eloped with Noah’s father at age eighteen wearing jeans and a T-shirt—but I didn’t understand the rush to get everything done. They had months and months before the big day, a date picked because it would coincide with Ryan’s leave from the army, but also because it would allow time for Mom to heal.
    I turned my attention back to the slabs of wedding cake. “How about this? Trish and I will narrow the cakes down to three. Then you can pick your favorite.”
    Shane beamed. “Great! That okay with you, hon?”
    Trisha considered it, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, that would work.”
    Shane gave me a thumbs-up and went back to editing footage.
    â€œWhere’s my dad?” I asked Trisha.
    She handed me a fork. “Taking a nap. Shane is supposed to wake him before dinner.”
    I wanted to tell him all about my first day at school, but it could wait.
    â€œSo, I think we should take a bite from each piece and rate them on a scale of one to ten.” Trish pulled out a notepad. “I’ll keep score.”
    We spent the next half hour stuffing ourselves with the sweet samples. We agreed that the slices covered with fondant were out. They looked nice, but neither one of us could stomach the fondant, which was a tasteless, rubbery skin stretched across a thin layer of frosting. We also agreed to eliminate chocolate and anything with a fruity filling. Finally we had it down to three samples and called Shane in to taste.
    Trisha watched her fiancée with anxious eyes. She had a favorite and was hoping it would be his, as well. Shane took his time, and I couldn’t decide if he was torturing us or really trying to take the task seriously. He put down his fork.
    â€œThis one.” He held up the remains of a white slice.
    Trisha squealed. “That’s my favorite, too!” She jumped up from her chair and hugged him, then grabbed her phone to call the bakery.
    Shane smiled at me. “Thanks, kid. I owe you one.”
    â€œYeah, well, I owe you about a thousand.” I looked at the kitchen clock. It was after three. “Will you tell Trish I’ll pick up Noah from school?” I grabbed my keys and purse off the counter. “We’ll see you for dinner and maybe we can work on the DVD afterwards.”
    â€œSounds good. Do you have a minute, though? I need to talk to you about something.”
    I glanced at the clock again. “Sure. I have a minute.” I sat back down and braced myself for an onslaught of wedding details.
    â€œI got a call today,” Shane began. “You remember Pate?”
    â€œThe prison guy?”
    â€œYeah. His lawyer contacted me. Seems our favorite prison historian is suffering from emotional distress since our visit and is demanding compensation.”
    â€œGreat. A lawsuit.” It had happened before, and usually didn’t go anywhere. People thought we were loaded and they were looking for easy money. “Can’t we threaten to sue him for menacing me?”
    Shane nodded. “That’s my plan. I’m hoping to put an end to this before it gets off the ground.” He paused. “I haven’t mentioned any of this to your dad.”
    â€œGood. He doesn’t need the stress.”
    â€œThere’s something else, Charlotte. Pate claims that there’s been